Chicken Fried Steak and a Glass of Milk
by Teobi
Summary: Norman makes his first visit to the diner after the events of Psycho II.


A/N: Lynette and the kitchen boy are my own OCs. Everyone else appeared in both Psycho II and III.

Chicken Fried Steak and a Glass of Milk

"Can I have my order, please?"

Myrna fidgeted at the counter while the new cook's helper rushed to get the food. She couldn't blame the boy for being nervous- Statler wasn't an easy guy to work for. But there were limits to her patience and when her customers were shooting daggers she took it personally.

"Coming right up," the boy cried with false cheer. He made his way across the kitchen, dodging around the large bulk that was Ralph Statler, and dropped two plates onto the counter. The burgers looked a little lopsided and grease was smeared around the rim of one plate but Myrna was in no mood to quibble. The morning wasn't going great and she wasn't going to make it worse.

"Put a rocket under it next time," she muttered, grabbing the plates.

"Sorry, Myrna," he said, turning bright red.

The new waitress wasn't much better, either. Myrna nearly collided with her, lifting the plates into the air to avoid the apologetic young girl as she dodged beneath Myrna's arm.

"Jesus, Lynette, what are you going to be like when it gets busy?"

"Sorry, Myrna... I'll get better, I promise."

"If I hear 'sorry, Myrna', one more time..."

"Sorry, Myrna," Lynette babbled.

Myrna plastered on her best smile and delivered the food to the customers on Table 2. The man unfurrowed his brow and replaced it with a hungry leer.

"'Bout time," he rumbled.

"My apologies, sir. New staff. They're doing the best they can."

The man ignored her, lifted his burger and took a huge bite, his face almost disappearing into the bread. Meanwhile, his wife lifted the top of her bun and peered suspiciously at the slice of limp gherkin. Myrna braced herself for a barrage of complaints from the sharp faced woman.

"Can I get you people anything else?" She glanced around at other customers, hoping the answer was 'no'. Relief washed over her when the couple shook their heads, too busy eating to talk. The woman had evidently found her appetite and was working her way through a pile of french fries. _Bon appeteet,_ Myrna thought, wearily.

Between Statler yelling at the kitchen staff and the Pac-Man game trilling and beeping, Myrna didn't hear the door opening behind her. She turned around to head back to the kitchen and bumped straight into someone. She dropped her order pad, mumbling an oath under her breath before she looked up and saw who it was.

"S-sorry, Myrna," the man stuttered.

"Oh my God," Myrna exclaimed. "Norman!"

Norman bent down to retrieve Myrna's order pad, handing it to her with a crooked, nervous smile.

"Norman, how are you? When did you get back from town?" Myrna couldn't help but notice the fresh bandages wrapped round his hands. "Jeez, Norman, everything happens to you, doesn't it?"

Norman attempted to answer all of her questions as she pulled him by the elbow to an empty booth.

"I'm fine. Two days ago. Yes- it seems so."

Mr. Statler had appeared at the counter and was staring open-mouthed.

"Good God, Norman, where are ya when we need you?"

"I'd love to help out, Mr. Statler, but I'm afraid-" Norman held up his injured hands.

"God dammit," Statler bellowed. "Sit yourself down, Norman. It's good to see you."

Norman settled into the booth, looking around quickly to see if anyone was staring at him. They weren't. They were too busy eating and talking, wrapped up in themselves and each other. He turned back around and picked up the menu. How easily people forgot things.

"What can I get you, Norman?" Myrna was standing over him, beaming widely. "We just added chicken fried steak to the menu, it's pretty good. Would you like to try it?"

Norman smiled and nodded. "If you recommend it, Myrna, then it must be good."

Myrna found herself blushing. "When did you become such a smooth talker?"

Norman's smile dropped a little as confusion clouded his eyes. Myrna tapped his shoulder with the order pad. "Never mind, I'm just teasin' you. You've been through a lot, lately. Just glad to see you home, and not- well, you know."

"I do," he said, slowly.

"Okay, well- I'll go get you your steak."

Myrna trotted to the kitchen and placed an order for chicken fried steak. She glanced back and saw Norman looking at Lynette as the girl carried food to Table 4. His thoughts seemed to be elsewhere while his eyes studied her slim figure and the untidy straw-blond hair that she'd scraped back into an ineffective ponytail. Lynette herself didn't even notice he was looking.

A feeling of possessiveness crept over Myrna and she went to the refrigerator to get a carton of cold milk. She wiped a glass with a clean tissue until it gleamed, then poured it full of milk and took it back to Norman's table. For some weird reason she didn't want him looking at Lynette. She didn't know why.

"I hope Sheriff Hunt didn't give you a hard time," she said as he took the glass from her hand.

"No, not at all. He was very understanding." Norman took a small sip and put the glass down. "Very nice," he said, wiping his lip with his thumb.

"Your hands must hurt," Myrna prompted. "You were lucky she didn't kill you."

Norman's eyes turned dark but his smile remained.

"How much do you know, Myrna?"

"Just... you know, the grapevine. People talking. Just... stuff. Mary going crazy and all. Who would have thought it? Then again, she was always a little off. Couldn't put my finger on it. Not all there, you know?" Myrna caught herself tapping her forehead. "Oh, God. I'm sorry, Norman. That was insensitive of me."

"It's all right," he said gently. "You don't have to watch what you say. I'm fairly thick skinned." He looked down at his bandages. "I liked Mary. Yes, she was a little different, but that's why we became friends. I didn't know she was Lila Crane's daughter. I didn't know about their plans or I would have done something to stop Mary from going insane."

"Pretty ironic, considering that's what they were trying to do to you."

"I know. It's very sad, really. I started it, all those years ago. I toppled the first domino, and now they're all dead. It's unfortunate, but maybe people will leave me alone now. Life can get back to normal. I'll miss Mary, but the best thing I can do to honor her memory is to live well."

"And stay out of trouble," Myrna joked. "Ugh, sorry... me and my big mouth again."

"It's fine, Myrna, really. It's fine." Norman looked towards the kitchen, darted his eyes around and bit his lower lip. "Where's Mrs. Spool?"

"You know what? We don't know. She didn't turn up for work yesterday and no sign of her today either. You'd think she would have called if she was sick."

"That's not like her," Norman mused. "Has anyone tried calling her house?"

"This morning, but there was no answer. We're gonna give it another day and then ask Sheriff Hunt to look into it."

"Put out an APB," Norman suggested.

"Something like that."

"It's a shame she's not here. I wanted to say hello. I liked Mrs. Spool- she was a kind lady."

"Was?"

Norman's head jerked up. "Is," he corrected, hastily.

Myrna tried to read his expression. He maintained eye contact with her, his mouth set into a straight line that tilted up slightly at one end. His bandaged fingers curled lightly around his glass of milk, fingertips damp with condensation.

"Myrna!" Statler's booming voice cut through Myrna's thoughts. "I don't pay you to stand around, girl! Norman's been through enough interrogation without you poking your nose in where it doesn't belong!"

Myrna snapped back to attention. "Heil Hitler," she muttered, catching her order pad before it fell again.

"You were the same with me," Norman said with renewed humor. "' _Excuse me, do you still work here?_ ' But I see you have a new whipping boy now." He jerked his thumb towards the flustered young man running hither and thither in the kitchen.

Myrna grimaced. "Was I that bad?"

"No, Myrna. You're a pussycat. Your claws are sharp but they don't hurt. And don't worry that you're bothering me, because you're not. If I didn't want company then I wouldn't be here, would I?"

His smile was both compelling and unsettling, causing a strange feeling in the pit of Myrna's stomach. Norman was a nice guy, in small doses. Any longer and she felt like a fly wading through treacle, as though insanity was catching, even from a man who had been cured. Suddenly she was grateful for Statler's intervention. She pocketed her order pad and returned to her work, Norman's slip of the tongue already forgotten.

"Don't go away, Norman. I'll be back with your order as quick as I can."

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere," Norman said softly, sipping his milk as she hurried away.

-oOo-

Norman closed the front door behind him and hung his jacket on the peg. He looked at himself in the mirror, patted his full stomach with a satisfied smile. Myrna was right, the chicken fried steak had indeed been delicious. He had eaten it slowly, savoring every bite between mouthfuls of milk as he watched the staff go about their business. It was strange without Mary and Mrs. Spool, it felt almost like a different diner now. But that wasn't surprising. After all, he was a very different person to the one who came home from the hospital just a few short weeks ago.

So much had happened since then. Even the house felt different.

Norman climbed the stairs and opened the door to mother's bedroom. The air was cool and the room dark, curtains chinked against the sun. Over in the corner, a small figure sat huddled in a rocking chair, facing the window. Everything in the room was either old or antique. Not for the first time, Norman thought it looked like something out of Dickens.

"I'm back," he said, standing just inside the doorway.

"It's about time," she grumbled. "I don't suppose you brought anything for me?"

He squared his shoulders. "You asked me not to."

"That's right," she rasped. "I don't eat food served by whores."

Norman rolled his eyes. "Mother, you can't keep calling women 'whores'. It's the nineteen eighties- there's this thing called feminism now. You can get in trouble."

"Whores!" she spat defiantly. "Whores, whores, whores!"

"Fine. Have it your way."

"I suppose you talked to the whores, too."

"I spoke to my former colleague who happens to be a girl, yes. I can't go around ignoring fifty percent of the population, Mother. I'll take care of you, but I don't intend to live like a hermit anymore. We've got a business to run. I'm even thinking of putting a 'Help Wanted' sign in the office window. We have to bring the motel into the modern age."

"Just so long as you don't employ a whore."

Norman laughed. "I'll try."

She lapsed into a sulky silence. Norman sauntered across the room and stood in front of her.

"Someone's gone missing from the diner," he whispered.

"And what's that got to do with me?"

Norman looked down into the empty eyesockets of Emma Spool.

"Nothing, Mother. I just thought I'd mention it."

"Probably run off with some man, never to be seen again. Steer clear of whores, Norman, or I'll have to take matters into my own hands."

Norman sighed and tuned her out, peeking through the curtains at the motel below. _His_ motel. His pride and joy. He couldn't wait to get it up and running with new customers and modernized equipment. First thing tomorrow he was going to order an ice machine. Then he was going to call the phone company and have them come and install a kiosk. One by one he would get those cabins occupied until the 'No' in 'No Vacancy' was switched on for the very first time. Happy customers would spread the word, Bates Motel would go back on the map and Norman would finally have a life he could be proud of.

The chicken fried steak settled in his stomach and a warm, lazy glow began to suffuse his body. He hadn't felt this good in a long time- despite the loss of his friend Mary, he had a feeling that things were going to be all right. He looked forward to his next visit to the diner and a tall, cold glass of milk put straight into his hand by a smiling Myrna.

"Never trust a whore," his mother muttered grumpily.

"Yes, mother," he murmured, his brown eyes twinkling.


End file.
